


A Miniature History

by outsideth3box



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, SGA Secret Santa 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5639728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outsideth3box/pseuds/outsideth3box
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the things they got wrong that filled his heart with warmth;  that almost-but-not-quite brought a little prickle to his eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Miniature History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danceswithgary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithgary/gifts).



> Endless thanks to my wonderful beta, darkhavens . She is the one that makes me look so good on paper. Her work is spot-on and thoughtful and I can’t say enough good things about her. All hail!

A Miniature History

 

General John Sheppard sipped the delicious, sweet, sparkling wine brought by the Denerans from one of their oldest wineries. Smiling, he looked out over the thousand-plus people gathered on the brightly decorated south pier in the late afternoon sun. Almost all of Atlantis’ allies had sent representatives, bearing traditional food and drink from their home planets to share on this special day. 

Suddenly, something slammed into the back of his leg and his knee buckled. His hand dropped reflexively to catch himself, and landed on the head of eight-year-old Anthony Wells, busy tearing through the crowd in a long black coat and a scraggly white wig, make-up coloring his face a sickly greenish hue. 

“Easy there, kiddo,” John said with a grin, “these old knees can’t take much of that kind of thing.”

Anthony ducked out from under John’s hand and spun toward him, a snarl on his pallid face and his right hand outstretched, palm forward. “Rawr!” But before John could respond, Anthony’s eyes widened and he turned quickly and dashed off into the crowd. Hot on his heels, a gaggle of children hooted and hollered past John in their own outfits. One young boy in mini black BDU’s flew by with a tiny, wood-carved P-90 in his hands, three girls in long leather skirts slit up the sides and waving wee, training-sized bantos rods raced after him. Following them were two boys in leather vests and bouncing yarn-dreadlocks, and one little blond kid trailing a bit behind in tan trousers and a blue shirt, carrying an old-style PDA and yelling, “Morons! Wait up!”

John’s chest flooded with warmth as he watched the children acting out stories they had heard all their lives, playing at being Wraith and SGA teams and allies from other worlds. He reveled in the things they got wrong, in their lack of actual fear, their innocence. The oldest was nine. 

Just then Doctor M. Rodney Mckay, PhD., PhD., PhD., appeared out of the swarm of shrieking children, holding his plate and mug high above their heads as he stomped over to John’s side. 

“Heathens!” Rodney grumbled. He cast a sidelong look at John’s hopeful face and heaved a beleaguered sigh, offering John hors d’oeuvres as if under duress. He had piled his plate high with those cheesy puffs the kitchen staff cooked up with that luscious cheese from Trentar. The Trentari monks made it from the milk of horse-sized, dog-looking animals that Rodney, naturally, claimed were vicious and dangerous, but John knew were actually quite friendly. Yummy, oozy, rich, cheesy goodness. John snatched several quickly before the offer expired.

“Shouldn’t they be heading to the auditorium to prepare for the play? Instead of being out here charging about, tripping innocent people and creating havoc?” Rodney mumbled through a mouthful of cheese puffs. 

“That looks like Lieutenant Farber rounding them up now,” John said, nodding toward the large group of children coalescing around a shortish, dark-haired woman. She was herding them toward the nearest doors. “We should start moseying that way ourselves.” 

“‘Moseying’?” Rodney squawked, cheese puff crumbs spraying in all directions. “I do not ‘mosey’! I walk, I stride, I stalk, I stomp, I hike when I have to, but I do not ‘mosey’! 

“Well,” John said, with a raised eyebrow and a devilish grin, “I’m going to mosey. You can perform any particular type of locomotion you’d like. But now is a good time, the crowd is starting to head inside for the performance.”

For the most part, folks made way for the General and his husband, which John appreciated, as then Rodney wouldn’t find himself feeling claustrophobic in the press of people all trying to find their preferred seats in the huge Ancient auditorium. 

They found their place in between Teyla, Kanaan, a teenaged Torren slouching in his seat, and Ronon and his lovely wife with their two youngest. John made sure Rodney was comfortably seated, plied with popcorn and coffee and still happily munching on his plate of cheese puffs. Grabbing one last puff, he made his way backstage to prepare to announce the children’s special Tenth Anniversary performance of the Final Battle. 

The Battle in which the last of the Wraith were destroyed forever.

 

*****

 

John made it back to his seat in the audience just as a tiny Dr. Rodney McKay rushed out on stage, waving his arms and bellowing angrily at a handful of equally mini scientists in blue. Each affixed an appropriately terrified expression to his or her young face as they all frenetically scurried about ‘working’ on standing cardboard cut-outs of consoles. Colored lights flashed. Loud booming noises rattled the auditorium. Mini Rodney seemed to be trying to shout them down.

“They have you down to a ‘T’,” he murmured into Rodney’s ear, grinning. 

“I’ll have you know I have never used the word ‘stoopyhead’ in my life!” Rodney growled over the hush of the audience. Several people turned and smiled indulgently in his direction. 

In the corner of the stage, two orange-red light fixtures glued over with old crystals glowed. 

A high-pitched squealing sound dopplered across the auditorium and suddenly the stage went black, and standing in a bright spotlight was one of the tiny Wraith, who moved out of the light. The light flashed and another little Wraith stepped into the spotlight and out, then another. Lights came back up on the stage and several of the little scientists screamed as one of the Wraith strode toward them with its palm outstretched. 

Tiny Rodney was screaming, “Wraith in Atlantis! Wraith in Atlantis!” into his pipe-cleaner ‘com’. A swarm of mini-marines rushed onto the stage, wooden rifles at the ready, and sound effects added several loud bangs as the first Wraith dropped in its tracks. The other two Wraith turned and sped off for parts unknown as the marines ran after them.

On the heels of the little marines came the boy in mini-BDUs that had run past John on the pier, along with one of the small Teylas and a Ronon. Mini John yelled, “How did they get past the shield, Rodney?” But pint-sized Rodney appeared to have forgotten his lines and was silent for a moment, then suddenly blurted, “Frequency!” and waved his arms in the air.

“Why did they have to pick the slow-witted one to play me?” Rodney grouched, not quite under his breath. 

“Aw, c’mon, Rodney, he’s doing great,” John argued with a smirk. “Just look at all the hand waving, it’s so you!”

Teyla turned, wearing a soul-destroying mom-frown, and whispered, “I do wish you would both keep quiet while the children perform.”

Rodney turned bright red, and John slouched down further in his seat, fidgeting with a button on his shirt. Teyla turned back to the play with a serene smile.

Ronon snickered on John’s right, while Torren snickered on Rodney’s left, making Teyla flash the mom-frown at them, and they stopped with identical wide grins.

On stage, mini John was shouting, “Fix the shield, Rodney! Hurry!” And little Rodney was yelling, “I’ll change the frequency! Random! Random frequencies!” And he ducked under a cardboard console. Slowly the orange lights in the corner started to pulse. There was a number of loud crashing sounds indicating Wraith darts wiping out against the changed shield and finally the horrible squealing noise stopped.

The loud explosions against the shield continued, however, and young John reached down and dragged little Rodney out from under the console as mini Teyla and Ronon gathered around. “We have to hurry to the Super-Drone Weapon room! Is it ready, Rodney? Is it ready yet?”

“Almost!” Small Rodney shouted. “We can get it ready very quickly; I’ll need everyone’s help!” 

“Let’s go!” ordered wee John, and the team ran off stage left. 

 

The lights dimmed and there were sounds of things being moved and dragged, and, when the lights came up again, the audience was staring at a corridor. Three diminutive Wraith peered around the corner as the team ran down the corridor toward them, pint-sized John in the lead. 

As the team hit the corner, one of the Wraith grabbed John and threw him against the wall, his tiny P-90 clattering to the floor. Teyla and Ronon fell back, raising their wooden rifles as another Wraith knocked Rodney to the floor, crouching over him. Little Teyla took a step forward and a big BANG sounded as she shot the Wraith over Rodney in the head. It raised its small hand to its forehead and squeezed a blood pellet, whereupon ‘blood’ ran down over its face as it collapsed and did not move. Tiny Ronon brought his gun to bear on full auto into the third Wraith’s face, and that one, too, fell in a bloody heap on the floor.

Wee Rodney scrambled to his feet and ran to the Wraith that had John, raised his tiny sidearm, shoved the barrel into the base of its skull and pulled the trigger. He shoved the dead Wraith aside as it fell and grabbed John by the upper arms, “Are you okay?” he yelled as he rubbed John’s arms. John grabbed him back and said, “Yeah I am, how about you?” Rodney answered, “I’m great, we gotta go!” but little John grabbed his Rodney by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Then the whole team turned and took off.

In the audience, Rodney turned to watch John’s ear pinken to red as the sweet scene played out. “How do they even know about that, is what I’m wondering,” John muttered. “Someone must have told.” He leaned forward slightly and glared at Teyla.

The lights dimmed again and when they came back up the corridor had been turned into a room. In the center was a conference room chair done up with plastic and cardboard and shiny things to look like a control chair, and surrounding the chair were half a dozen cardboard consoles, all facing a huge ‘view screen’ indicating the positions of the last two dozen living hiveships. 

The large drawing was surprisingly accurate, considering that it had been done by six-to-nine year olds.

Tiny Rodney rushed to a console and shouted to Teyla to take the one next to him, waving wee Ronon to the last one on the end. John sat down in the chair and waited while Rodney yelled directions and numbers to Teyla and Ronon as they all worked frantically on their given consoles. 

Little Ronon straightened and shouted, “Done!” just as Teyla was nodding to Rodney. 

“Okay! Okay we’re all set, John!” Rodney shouted. “Tell Atlantis we need the Super Drones this time, and fire at will!”

Tiny John leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. The colored lights that had been flashing overhead all this time were joined by bright flashes of white light. 

“Got one!” little Rodney crowed, and ran to the view screen and covered one of the hiveships with a scribbly red ‘explosion’. 

“And another!” he shouted, and another ‘explosion’ went up. The third time wee Rodney yelled, “Another!” the audience began to clap. As the war raged on and hiveships bit the dust, the audience grew wilder and started cheering and standing up. By the time all the hiveships were blasted out of the sky, the entire audience was on its feet, whooping and laughing and clapping crazily. Some eyes shone with happy tears, and some people were hugging each other and dancing in little circles.

The flashing lights of all colors stopped, and the booming of the firefight died. Wee John jumped out of the chair and the team gathered in a group hug, slapping each other on the back and laughing in the bright, clear light. 

The stage lights came up and all the children gathered at the front of the stage to take their bows. The audience went nuts, whistling and whooping and clapping. The children all grinned widely and pointed out their families to each other and one little girl grabbed her crotch and ran off to go pee from all the excitement.

On the auditorium floor, John and Rodney stood, shoulder to shoulder, clapping wildly. John was grinning fit to break his face, and Rodney was one of those whose eyes were wet. 

“Well,” Rodney said, gruffly. “It didn’t happen exactly like that, of course. But the play was well done in any case, performances entirely noteworthy.”

“It was brilliant,” John said, and swooped in to grab Rodney by the back of the neck and plaster a kiss on him that would take his breath away. Unfortunately, the kiss went definitively awry, since neither of them could stop smiling. 

Rodney laughed at John and cuffed him upside the head. “You stoopyhead.”

 

 

~~~End~~~


End file.
